Incubated Passion
by enterthetaiga
Summary: Izaya is asexual – doesn't feel desire for men or women. For years his sole obsession has been manipulating and observing the humans he loves so much, but after a lusty one-night encounter with a roaming incubus awakens the urges he has been suppressing all his life, how will Izaya cope? Rated M for adult themes and inevitable language. Shizaya!
1. Chapter 1

Izaya is asexual – doesn't feel desire for men or women. For years his sole obsession has been manipulating and observing the humans that he loves so much, but after a lusty one-night encounter with a roaming incubus awakens the urges he has been suppressing all his life, how will Izaya cope? Eventual Shizaya.

* * *

A hot shower is always the best way to unwind, even if you're Orihara Izaya. Behind the gauzy shower curtain, Izaya basked in the hot pounding water, his head tipped back. This particular day had been a rough one, and it showed in the dark bruises manifesting like shadows all over the informant's body, joining the yellowish healing ones. Physical reminders of the person he hated most. And unlike Heiwajima Shizuo, Izaya's pale skin bruised when hit by vending machines. The pressure of the steamy water made his injuries ache, but the heat helped him unwind. Unwinding let him imagine pleasant scenarios where Shizuo died in various painful and degrading ways. And honestly, he sort of enjoyed the ache in some twisted way. He supposed it must be twisted; most of his humans disliked pain, he reasoned as he cut off the water, stepping out of the shower and began to towel his hair. He glanced up at the foggy mirror, wiping off a stripe of condensation. His own face stared back at him, his reddish-brown eyes distant, a drop of water trickling from his bangs down his nose.

"Found you." Izaya jumped a mile, snatching his mid-lock knife off the counter and slashing out behind him at the figure that had suddenly appeared over his shoulder in the mirror. Shaking water out of his eyes, Izaya blinked. The bathroom was empty and quiet, save for his own stressed breathing. Izaya was nonplussed. The greatest informant in Japan, and perhaps the world, did _not_ imagine things. Hurriedly tugging on the clean clothes that he'd set on the counter-top, Izaya shoved open the door, shouting:

"Namie? NAMIE!" The bespectacled woman looked up exasperatedly from her filing.

"What now, asshole? Fall over on something?" she asked, eyeing the extensive bruising on his torso and arms. Izaya finished pulling on his shirt.

"Did you happen to let anyone inside the apartment without my permission?" Izaya's would-be casual tone had a tinge of panic to it that he didn't intend or much like. Namie rolled her eyes.

"No, I didn't. Seeing things, are you? Maybe you're crazier than just a sociopath." She let out a short, humorless bark of laughter and returned to filing. A crease appeared between Izaya's brows even as he smirked at his secretary. Normally, he'd make a snappy comeback involving the words 'incest' and 'Seiji,' but the memory of the figure in the mirror made him hold his tongue for once. Maybe he really was crazy, because the large man that had whispered in his ear just minutes ago in the foggy mirror had had large black horns. And this was not the first time Izaya had glimpsed him.

* * *

Shinjuku was a great metropolis, no lie, but the vast majority of his contacts lived in Ikebukuro. He wasn't sure what possessed him to move away from the beautiful place when he walked the streets like this. Sure, his current apartment was a bit ritzier than his old one, and he wasn't quite as infamous in Shinjuku as he was here, but he had scoured Shinjuku for no less than four hours looking for top quality surveillance equipment for his apartment and found less than nothing. Then he'd called up a contact in 'Bukuro and had his hands on the cameras in half an hour. Now he was wasting as much time as he could afford in his hometown before returning to his place to set up surveillance… Just in case there really was a giant horned man running rampant in his apartment. True, it wasn't likely, but 1. He'd had the feeling of being watched in his apartment for about two weeks now, and 2. Seen what might have been that same figure out of the corner of his eye on five separate occasions. It might sound very _Paranormal Activity 4_, but 3. If something like a dullahan could exist and ride a motorcycle through the streets of Ikebukuro, then Izaya wasn't willing to rule out any possibility, especially the supernatural ones. But he'd worry about that later. For now, it might be fun to make that one really stressed salary man he'd been chatting with on the internet lose his job, or trick Shizu-chan into head-butting a cement mixer. Well, that last one might backfire and injure the cement truck more than the Neanderthal… Yeah, best to avoid the fortissimo of Ikebukuro while toting delicate and expensive equipment. Maybe next time.

The next few days passed without incident. Izaya decided to send a prostitute to the salary man's house instead of getting him fired, which proved slightly more entertaining from a long-term standpoint. He sold the whereabouts of a yakuza deserter to Shiki, who invited Izaya out for cocktails. Izaya declined. The cement mixer was in fact knocked sideways when Shizuo head-butted it. Half a city block was covered in rapidly solidifying cement, the highlight of Izaya's day. Shiki called, asked Izaya if he wanted to go for a drink. Izaya declined. He made Namie cook him dinner. She spat in it. Still damn funny though. When the sun had disappeared from the smoggy sky, Izaya could be found spinning idly in his desk chair.

"Bye bye Namie! Hope you don't get kidnapped by any evil pharmaceutical companies on your way home! Oh wait…"

"Go to hell."

"As long as you won't be there." Namie slammed the door. Izaya sighed, reading the latest text from Shiki. _Not tonight either? Don't you drink, Orihara?_ Well, no, he didn't drink usually. Intoxication meant he wasn't on his best game. Not being on his best game meant dying, probably by the hands of a protozoan. And Orihara Izaya did not _die._ But more importantly, Izaya wasn't interested in Shiki or his barely-veiled sexual propositions. Not that Shiki was unattractive; he was a lovely specimen of human. Izaya just wasn't interested in something so… vulgar. Rutting together like animals, it was just so undignified, not the behavior of a god. Izaya hadn't felt even a flicker of desire since he was in middle school, at the beginning of puberty, and even then it had simply been hormones at work, not tied to an infatuation with any specific human of either sex. Izaya was asexual, no other way to phrase it, and Shiki was fighting an impossible battle with his flirtations. It might have been funny if it wasn't so sad… Izaya shook off the train of thought with a smirk. Too serious. After twenty minutes of wreaking havoc upon the internet, Izaya logged into a chat room for a while, where everyone was still abuzz over the cement incident.

**Setton:** Ehh? I was inside all day watching that TV special. What happened?

**Taro Tanaka:** Oh, the special on aliens? I recorded that, is it good?

**Setton:** It was terrifying. Really, it was.

**Setton:** But that's not important. What about Heiwajima Shizuo?

**Kanra: **Heyo~

**Setton:** Hi Kanra

**Taro Tanaka:** Hi!

**Taro Tanaka:** But anyway, Setton

**Taro Tanaka:** I wasn't there, but I saw the dust cloud from where I was.

**Taro Tanaka:** I guess it was Orihara Izaya's fault as usual.

**Kanra:** That's a little harsh, don'tcha think?

**Kanra:** Heiwajima Shizuo may be strong, but he's stupienujsrhpwdolrh

**Setton:** Kanra?

**Taro Tanaka:** You there?

**-Kanra has left the chat room-**

Izaya jumped a mile, suddenly becoming aware of a reflection in his computer screen that was not his own. He spun around, fully expecting his eyes to have been playing tricks again. He came face to face with a man, dark curly hair framing a chiseled, tanned, grinning face and blood red eyes.

* * *

Dun dun DUN... So much more to follow it's insane.

So, I'm new. Oh golly. Any comments/critiques/meows would be super-lovely.

^My super awkward way of saying:

A giant hug and homemade cookies to anyone who reviews!


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you to all of you that reviewed, favorited, etc. You guys make me so happy! Special shout out to the people who sent me meows; I adore you :3 Story rating has been changed to M, not for smut (because there isn't any in this chapter,) but for the prevalent adult themes that make up pretty much the entire story. Hope you enjoy it anyway!

* * *

Izaya could do nothing but stare. This was… _Impossible. Amazing. Horrible. What?_

"Who" _what _"are you?" The man smiled, a predatory expression that threw into sharp relief the slight fangs that graced his angular face.

"You've seen me before." His voice was deep, slightly hoarse, in a way that suggested he rarely spoke or had been yelling recently. _Or both._ Unbidden, an image floated to the front of Izaya's mind, how this man would look above him, slick with sweat, yelling to the ceiling as he… Izaya shook his head. Enough with those kinds of thoughts; what was that all about? The raven-haired informant stared straight into the apparition's crimson eyes, trademark smirk firmly in place. After all, he could manipulate Celty easily enough. How could this thing be much different? Reason, after all, was universal.

"Ah, yes. I believe I have noticed you around here. Tell me, is there a reason you waited till now to say hello? I could have given you sushi or some tea!"

"You're a bad host." Izaya frowned.

"You would have received my hospitality if you'd buzzed in downstairs," Izaya pointed out. The apparition stared at him hungrily.

"Not that kind of host." Izaya's snappy comeback froze in his throat. He was a man skilled at reaching conclusions based on incomplete information, and though this lack of information infuriated him to no end, the idea he was gaining made his stomach turn. Horns, black horns that knifed through his curly dark hair, red eyes, blood red, not tinted with brown like his own, and those _teeth_. This better be a joke. This was too ironic. "You know," the man continued, dragging Izaya's wheeled desk chair out into the room at large, "I've been here nearly a month, no fuel to get me anywhere else, not planning to feed off you directly, and you haven't jacked off. Not _once._ Of all the places to crash-land, I end up with an _asexual?_" The man's eyes darkened to a glinting ox-blood color as he continued to speak, his tone becoming rougher. Satisfied that this must be some sort of freaky dream, Izaya decided that nothing could be gained from this entirely random turn of the conversation.

"If this is a professional visit, I do have supernatural clientele, and though I love humans most, I will render my services to any species with money to give." As he said this, the informant shifted in his seat and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket, feeling for his knife. This man was dangerous, well that was ok. _He_ was smarter, faster, and deadlier than the fortissimo of Ikebukuro.

"Now that's what I like to hear." The man's husky voice knifed past Izaya's ear as he disappeared in a wisp of black smoke and reappeared just as silently behind him. Just as the informant felt the ghost of hot breath above his jugular, he sprang to his feet, kicking the office chair at the demonic creature as a distraction while he let his knife fly. _Thunk. _The knife split in two a wisp of smoke and found its mark in the drywall. "Do you want _information?_" Izaya could not tell where the voice came from; it was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. _Out of my league. _"I'll tell you everything you could ever hope to know in the world after you feed me."_ Nowhere to run._ Izaya had never been too physically imposing, relying on his strategy and speed to inflict damage on his enemies and avoid damage himself. (Not that that always worked, Izaya thought of his bruises.) In a close-quarters brawl, he was worse than useless. The dark-haired informant ran for the door.

"Don't open it." Izaya looked over his shoulder at what he had deduced was some sort of demonic apparition, who was leaning leisurely against Izaya's desk in dark-wash jeans and nothing else. "You'll regret it if you do," the thing continued. "You already looked into my eyes, human. You're done." In a huskier tone, the demon added: "And I'm so _hungry_…" Izaya contemplated for a moment, then grabbed the door handle.

The demon had not followed him, and Izaya made straight for Shinra's apartment. Every step he took away from that thing, he felt the frigid numbness of fear melt off his bones. He skipped a little as he got off the bus he'd taken to Ikebukuro. Sure, he was probably still in shock, but soon he'd see Celty and she'd help him get rid of this vulgar demonic apparition, or at least give him the information he needed to do it himself. Anyway, the great Orihara Izaya did _not_ get shaken up, no matter what. He became happier, feeling a little more confident with every step he took, his smirk growing with arrogance, but a small sense of_…what was it? Disquiet? Dissatisfaction?_ also grew with his every footfall. This uncomfortable bliss confused Izaya, until a growing strain in the material of his black jeans acted as explanation. _No. Just no. What is this?_

The informant looked down at his hard-on in dismay. That wasn't supposed to happen; that _never_ happened. He resolved to think of the most unattractive thing he could think of as he walked, keeping to the shadows now. Umm… _My sisters. Boner-kill if ever there was one. _This unsavory image, rather than stymieing his arousal, twisted in his mind to a panting Kururi and Mairu, petting each other's hair and sucking on hard candy, making his jeans tighten another degree. _No! No! Bad image! Bad! _How about… Shiki? Shiki was old, not good enough for Izaya. _Yakuza._ _Full body tattoos. Trace them with your tongue. They go down, down…_What? Izaya never had these kinds of thoughts, and even if he did, they'd be joking thoughts, never arousing! As it was, he was having some trouble walking. Izaya skulked down an alley. He wasn't too far from Shinra's right now, but how could he ring his only actual friend's doorbell red-faced, panting, with a painful problem straining at his skinny jeans? It was an absurd situation, one that frightened the informant, who had never in his life encountered anything in himself or in the world that he couldn't control. Now he was losing his precious control to his penis? No, that was too embarrassing. This wasn't his fault; that thing in his apartment must be fucking with his head. _You already looked into my eyes, human. You're done._ Was this his own fault? Had he subjected himself to mind control? He had no answers, no information, but he would gain control over this situation.

By the time Izaya was fumbling with the key to his door, he had realized that the best way to fight the thing's mind control was simply to not think. Any idea or thought he had could be turned into something twisted and sexual. Even concentrating on inserting his key into the lock was proving… difficult. But Izaya had a secret weapon floating at the back of his mind, just deep enough in his preconscious that the demon couldn't see it, just shallow enough that he could use it. One thought to concentrate on that could _never _turn him on. Izaya unlocked the door to find the horned apparition reclining in his chair, his feet up on Izaya's desk.

"Feel like cooperating now? I had to steal your neighbor's wi-fi to get any porn in here." Izaya cringed away from the forceful image that filled his mind. Two wobbly steps toward the demon, then Izaya sank to the carpet, trying to ease the tension in his pants without actually unzipping them.

"What… _are_ you?" Not like Izaya hadn't guessed already, but he needed to make completely sure.

"Phil the incubus, at your _service_," the incubus rumbled seductively, standing to take a small bow, them stalking closer to Izaya. Izaya snorted, ever the troll.

"Your name is… Phil?" Phil scowled.

"Shut up, human; it was my sire's name. Short for Philander."

"Still, not very sexy, is it?"

"It can be." In the powerful image that followed, Izaya's toes curled as he shouted the demon's name to the ceiling. Izaya slipped sideways, his head on the floor, incapacitated by the incubus.

"How are you doing that?" Izaya panted out. The incubus grinned.

"Oh, the pictures? You did that to yourself, human."

"_How?_"

"My eyes, human. When you stared into my eyes, you exposed a direct conduit to your soul. It was simple for me to get in and change some things around." Izaya paled.

"What things?"

"I simply activated –then amplified– your sexuality. You have more needs than the average human, but you're still something short of a nymphomaniac." The demon frowned. "I could change that…" Izaya groaned, desperately avoiding those crimson eyes. _No, I can't be creating these images. It's gotta be the demon. He's lying. Let's see what this bastard can do with Izaya's ULTIMATE WEAPON!_ Izaya reached for his knife. He stood up, wincing with pain, but with his pants firmly on. Then, preparing to throw his knife, he focused all of his attention on the one person, no, force of nature, which no demon or any other magic stuff could pervert: Heiwajima Shizuo.

* * *

And another chapter done. I regret nothing!

Review/meow/draw a unicorn/do your AP Art History homework like I should be doing...


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry about the wait! Senior year isn't the breeze that it should be! But anyway, thank you to each and every one of my reviewers, I literally jump around and do a happy dance and eat a celebratory cookie when I get a review. And thank you to everyone who fav'ed and followed this story. I love you all.

Durarara! isn't mine. If it was, there'd be considerably more buttsex and less shiptease.

* * *

_OH _GOD_ IT HURTS! _Well, that wasn't quite the right description, Izaya thought as his knees crumpled beneath him and his vision whited out. More like he'd never felt this good before, the pleasure assaulting him so intense that it bordered on pain. When he regained some semblance of awareness, he was on the ground, gasping for air, his head cushioned by Phil's lap.

"Uhnn…" Izaya's voice came out hoarse and raw. Had he been yelling? He'd be surprised if he'd been able to keep quiet throughout that… tumultuous… episode. Phil chuckled. This sound awoke Izaya's protective barriers. No one should have the right to observe him in such a… vulnerable… state. He tried to move, he really did, but his limbs were impossibly heavy, and it took so much focus just to remember how to breathe.

"I'm curious," Phil's voice was like a smack to the face, slightly less deep and less rough than the one that had filled his ears moments before, "who is it that is so desirable that he made you come that hard just from the mere thought of him?" Izaya became uncomfortably aware of the warm sticky wetness in his pants. He'd come without even being touched. _How embarrassing_, he thought vaguely, but the emotion was still distant from him. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you," the incubus continued, stroking long fingers through Izaya's dark hair. Izaya shuddered. Not the fingers he wanted. _Not that I want anyone's fingers. Fuck._ "I still get to feed, whether I induce orgasm or not. I stuck around to tell you thanks for the meal. So thanks for the meal. Goodbye Orihara Izaya." Izaya's head hit the floor with a loud clunk as the demon vanished in a wisp of black smoke.

Izaya didn't stand up, didn't move. The shell-shocked informant lay sprawled spread-eagle on his carpet, his mind, finally clear after being rid of wanton desire, fixed on his miscalculation. How had Shizu-chan of all people evoked that kind of common, vulgar response in him? Izaya's eyes lidded. He'd never thought that he'd… enjoy that type of thing as much as he did. As a fresh wave of satisfied exhaustion rolled over him, his mind drifted, despite his protests, into a hazy daydream, recalling what had happened perhaps seconds, perhaps hours ago…

_His knife fell from his shaking fingers, his snarky comment escaping his lips as a whine._ _He couldn't aim at Phil. He couldn't see Phil. Shizuo was in the way. Shizuo was supposed to help his aim, not hinder it! Shizuo was supposed to be powerful! _Powerful._ The word reverberated, a husky purr in his mind, spoken in Shizuo's own deep tones. _

_"Take the tie, you flea scumbag." Izaya was powerless to resist. After all, the blonde man had him cornered, had chased him into the narrow alley between two tall brick buildings. At the taller man's urging, Izaya pulled at the black bow tie, so that it hung open around the blonde's neck. _

_"Now the buttons." Large hands guided Izaya's own to the muscular chest, which he proceeded to uncover, inch by precious inch. He tugged the unbuttoned shirt from the black pants in which it was tucked and pushed it from Shizuo's broad shoulders. He looked up at Shizuo, meeting his light brown eyes, the pupils blown wide with lust. He waited unashamedly for more instructions, panting lightly. He had lost control the moment he had been caught. There was no point pretending to pull the strings anymore. He'd just pretend afterwards that this had never happened. Just a momentary lapse of sanity._

_"Buttons." Shizuo's growl interrupted his struggle for rational thought. "All of them, louse. You're not done." Izaya's eyes widened. Tentatively, he reached out towards the blonde's slacks, brushing against a hardness that definitely wasn't a button. With a low groan, the larger man fisted his hands in Izaya's jacket, pulling him forward into a steamy, passionate kiss, slowly grinding against him for good measure. The rough clash of tongues and teeth tasted like strawberry milk with a hint of metallic blood. _

_"Ah! Shizu ch-" Izaya's mouth was reclaimed before he could finish, the larger man ravaging him with a powerful and erotic dominance. Shizuo pushed the informant back against the brick wall of the building, grinding mercilessly into his hips. Izaya desperately clawed at the debt collector's shoulders before fisting in his hair…_

Izaya jerked out of his reverie as the deadbolt to his door slid open and Namie strode in, looking annoyed as usual. It was probably a mark of her utter distain for him that she didn't bother to inquire as to why her boss was laying on the floor, but he was glad all the same as she stepped over him, no questions asked. Groaning, he hauled himself to his feet, pulling at his jacket to hide the shameful stain on his pants.

A shower was the best way to unwind. The incubus was gone. Everything was back to normal. Izaya could control his own body, and his own thoughts. He would not think about what had just transpired, wouldn't recall the rest of that horrible fantasy. Because it hadn't stopped at kissing… Izaya cut off that line of thought, stepping into the hot shower. He registered that it must be morning since Namie was here. Maybe this was all a dream. If not for the gravity pulling hard at his eyelids, he would've been tempted to believe it. His sleep deprivation reminded him that he'd spent the majority of last night staggering around Ikebukuro with a boner. How distasteful. Better to just wash all this away, sleep it off, and learn how to fortify himself against parasites like that one. Phil. Izaya still giggled a little at the name, even though he found nothing remotely amusing about his situation. It was ironic, all right, but he couldn't bring himself to laugh at his own misfortune the way he did with others. He knew one thing and one thing only: he would never be helpless like that again.

It was nine o'clock, Izaya's phone told him as he towel-dried his hair. And six hours later, after a deep and dreamless slumber in which he could have been mistaken for a corpse if not for the faint breathing, Izaya had to go out. Life didn't pause, didn't slow down, and there was a man on the run, the same man that he'd practically handed to the yakuza on a silver platter. They'd fucked it up, and once again, Izaya was their only hope.

_Life doesn't slow down. Life doesn't pull punches. _As Izaya bade a cheery farewell to his secretary, he contemplated his situation, coming to a similarly cheery conclusion: he got trolled by life. The world was a big, strange, wild place. And there were predators and prey. He preyed upon the weak, the fragile humans, and in turn was the prey of the supernatural, the unpredictable. What had happened was one in a million, would never happen again, practically a statistic impossibility. And the… fantasy… was not his fault at all, nor did it reveal anything disturbing about his personality. Many women experience rape fantasies, not because they desire to be raped at all, but because a non-consensual sex fantasy frees them from responsibility and guilt about wanting sex at all. Had his perceived loss of control in his own episode been much different? It certainly didn't mean that he had a hidden desire to be dominated. Definitely not. Definitely. Not. Fuck, he hoped it was that simple. But whatever the deal, it was over now. He would never forget about it, but would be wise and learn from the experience. Never look a demon in the eyes. And keep his apartment under careful surveillance from now on. He was the same Orihara Izaya as ever, he thought cheerily, strutting his strut down the sunny sidewalk. Just with more world experience and knowledge. He passed a couple of hookers on a block without a second glance before coming to the street corner where he would meet his yakuza contact. Normally he would just ask Shiki to stop by his apartment, but it was only good business practice to meet him halfway sometimes. Besides, Shiki had specifically requested this arrangement, and it would have been rude to refuse. And it was never a good idea to offend a yakuza, even if you're Orihara Izaya. His skull was no less fragile than any of his humans', and he could end up at the bottom of Tokyo Bay almost as easily. Almost.

Shiki drove a foreign car, a gunmetal BMW, a sleek little number that still had plenty of foot room in the back seat. Because a grunt drove, of course. Shiki sat in the back, in a haze of cigar smoke and a hint of cologne. Izaya slid into the back seat deftly, waving with flourish, as much in greeting as to waft the copious smoke.

"Orihara." Izaya nodded to the driver, then to Shiki, who had spoken.

"Good morning, Shiki-san! How did you find my information last week? Useful, I hope?" As if he didn't already know.

"As if you don't already know." Shiki was nothing if not observant.

"Ah, but I didn't want to make you uncomfortable!"

"That'd be impossible." Izaya chose to ignore this comment. He'd take advantage of Shiki's infatuation eventually, but not today.

"So he escaped. Not very neatly, though. Once we decide on the amount of payment-"

"Let's wait until lunch to talk business, Izaya." Izaya's eyes narrowed infinitesimally at the casual use of his first name.

"Lunch?"

"Yes. A nice meal to talk business. You are far too used to sneaking around like a criminal, Orihara-san. We are businessmen." Izaya supposed that this was unavoidable. He had turned Shiki down for the better part of six months. It was only a matter of time until the gangster took matters into his own hands. Izaya allowed himself to be drawn into the idle chat that the yakuza showered him with. He'd just tough this out. It was part of the job. At some point, Shiki made some hand gesture, just noticeable enough for Izaya to register that his sleeves were rolled up to the elbows in an uncharacteristically casual manner, displaying the intricate designs inked into his skin. Unbidden, a hot pang of desire jolted down Izaya's stomach to his groin as he guiltily recalled the way he'd thought about those tattoos the night before. He smirked in spite of the feeling, forcing the desire away. How was that still happening? It worked at first, but he was in close proximity with Shiki. They were close, and he was a warm body with tattoos and a devilish authority that begged to be undermined. Izaya's control wavered slightly. It wasn't surprising. He'd never had the desire to control himself before. He never practiced self-control, just done whatever he wanted whenever he felt that it would be fun. But he didn't want this. He didn't get _urges_ like this.

"Hey Shiki, stop the car." The gangster cast him a suspicious glance, but allowed the car to pull over. Izaya was silent, unbuckling his seat belt, exiting the vehicle, waving merrily, and slamming the door. If his control slipped that would not be good. So he'd removed himself from the situation. No need to explain himself to mere humans. He darted away into the milling crowds of Ikebukuro before Shiki could think to follow him, simultaneously congratulating himself for an intelligent reaction and freaking the fuck out that he seemed to have retained that heightened libido that the demon had awakened. In this state, Izaya walked indiscriminately, passing by a large blonde man in a bartender's suit without looking up from his own pale hands.

"IIIIZAAAAYAAA-KUUUN!"

* * *

MEOOOW! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'll try to update at least once every two weeks, more often if I can. Bye-bye for now, you beautiful perverts!


	4. Chapter 4

_Hey all! Here with another chapter, and sorry for the wait, is Taiga! Thanks everyone for your supportive reviews, they make me so so so happy! Anyway, I don't really write smut, so there's no smut in this story (for now) but there is sex. I don't know if that makes sense. Does it? Anyway, if you don't like buttsex, TURN BACK NAO! _

_Love, Taiga! _

"IIIIZAAAAYAAA-KUUUN!"

Izaya let out a hiss of frustration and shock. That voice, he needed it lower, gravelly, husky in his ear… _No!_

Before he could think, plan, or otherwise maintain any type of dignity, Izaya lashed out against his hormones, spinning around and CRACK! Shizuo's nose spurted blood, the ex-bartender actually stumbling back a few steps, open-mouthed and dumbfounded. Izaya walked on, fist throbbing from his punch, keeping up a constant chant in his head. _Nonononononononono! _He felt the blonde's eyes on him. He was staring. But not chasing. He should turn back, taunt him, bring him out of his dumb shock and make him angry, make him give chase, let him get close, let him catch… _NO! _

Izaya hurried on. He was dangerous. He was a danger to himself like this. He had reacted to his archenemy's voice like an animal. Sex and aggression. He had decided long ago that the majority of human behavior was born out of one of those two categories. Being immune to both, Izaya had always considered himself superior, his decisions more intelligent and logical. Now, it seemed he was immersed in Freud's basest world.

_If you can't change the wind, adjust your sails._ Izaya snorted. How was one supposed to… adapt… to this kind of humiliation? As he walked, he sank into dark contemplation, each heavy footstep jolting up the length of his body and echoing around his skull. He didn't know where he was walking to. It didn't matter. As long as he paced the pavement, the rhythm of his strides provided him with the urge to think. And in the jolt of a footstep, like electricity up his spine, and answer came to the informant, as answers often did, in complete clarity.

_Adjust your sails._

Izaya was trying to suppress his sexual desires, having never suppressed a single part of himself in his entire life. It occurred to him that the act of self-control was very un-Izaya. Perhaps the best course of action was to do the opposite. Treat his sexual appetite the same way he treated his intelligence or his sense of humor, as part of himself and therefore worth exercising. After all, if he got in a good fuck now and then, he probably wouldn't be half so horny. If he changed his viewpoint, he could be in control of his libido in the same way that he controlled the rest of his life: that is, with very little self-control, and a high degree of control over others.

But who to choose? Immediately, he heard the echo of the growl of the Monster of Ikebukuro resonate through his whole body. But no. Shizu-chan was still Shizu-chan. He may be, Izaya realized for the first time, extremely attractive, but Izaya was far too used to regarding the man with contempt and disgust to consider changing those opinions. Besides, he valued his status as the bane of Shizuo's existence too highly to rock the boat.

There was always Shiki. Or Kida, if he felt like being a little risqué. He could probably seduce Shinra if he was drunk and away from Celty. The challenge appealed to the informant, but at that particular moment, he needed an easy lay that he could get a hold of quickly, just to sate him for now (and possibly take his mind off of the blonde in the black and white suit that Izaya was definitely NOT still thinking about). And that, of course, meant Shiki.

The yakuza picked up in the middle of the first ring.

"I figured I'd hear from you, Orihara."

"Yes, something very pressing came up, I'm afraid. Entertainment to be had"

"No it didn't."

"You're right. You looked a bit too happy. Like you were winning."

"Tease."

"No longer. I need to see you, Shiki-san. Where are you?"

"Your apartment. How soon can you get here?"

"I'll be there in ten. If I'm late, start without me."

The dark-haired informant chuckled as he terminated the short, needy call. Shiki was even more desperate than he was. So ready to believe that Izaya was just a tease, that really he'd been aching for Shiki's touch this whole time. Izaya no longer pounded the pavement. The old spring in his step: it was back.

Bouncing through the door, brimming with self-satisfied arrogance once again, Izaya was fifteen minutes late. Despite being (formerly) asexual, Izaya had taken sex ed, watched porn, and fooled around a little like a normal adolescent. Enough that he knew the mechanics, and knew how to appear really, really sexy. Of course, the latter was more a product of his trollish lifestyle than anything. He got off on being a tease, leading someone on, and then BAM! They step into a trap. The informant was a beautiful, deadly butterfly.

Except not today. Today, the informant noted as he closed the door behind him, today Orihara Izaya would stop trolling for once and deliver. Of course, it was quite possible that Shiki would want to establish a romantic relationship with Izaya after coitus, and at that point, Izaya resolved, he would troll the yakuza for all he was worth. Orihara Izaya did not get to be the greatest informant in Japan by forming healthy relationships.

Shiki had indeed started without Izaya. He sat in the kitchen, a bottle of Jack Daniels keeping him company as he sipped it in a glass with ice.

"That was not ten minutes." Izaya shrugged off his black jacket, hanging it over the back of a chair.

"I warned you I might be late." He grabbed a glass of his own, pouring a shot of Jack on the rocks that he fully intended not to drink. Shiki's sleeves were still rolled up, and he still smelled vaguely of cigar smoke. Izaya turned his back to Shiki, sighing as he steeled himself for what would happen next. He heard the yakuza's chair scrape against the tile and felt Shiki warm against his back. The man's stubbled jaw scraped sensually against Izaya's smooth cheek as he leaned in for a rough, whiskey-flavored kiss.

"I don't like to be kept waiting," Shiki growled, "Especially," he punctuated every word with a kiss, trailing down Izaya's neck to his collarbone, "when I've been… waiting… _so_… _long_…" Izaya smirked at Shiki's probably well thought-out words. He had predicted this moment perfectly. "Ori-" Shiki changed his mind, "Izaya," he let out a heavy breath, "I want you inside me."

_WHAT? _Well that was unexpected. Izaya supposed that he'd harbored certain… assumptions… about the way this encounter would proceed, and in all of his imaginings, while he always assumed that he would be on top, he'd expected Shiki to try to top, to try to dominate Izaya. Then Izaya would beat Shiki at his own game and end up victorious. Having the powerful man so submissive at the beginning was like denying Izaya a delightful game. But, Izaya reasoned, sex was sex, and the end result is the same. He didn't call Shiki for a battle of wills. Deciding he would need it, Izaya reached for the bottle of Jack.

"Mmm! Shi- Shi-!" Izaya caught himself. Sex with Shiki was pleasurable enough, he supposed, but while his body felt pleasure, he felt none of the rush that he'd experienced in his apartment last night… When he'd been thinking about… "Shi-" he cut himself off again. This was about the fifth time he'd almost called out that brute's name. Luckily his and Shiki's names started similarly. Izaya didn't know why, but the instant he'd begun to imagine that instead of pounding into Shiki's submissive tattooed form, he was bucking into the mouth of a certain blonde, he felt hotter, so much more turned on. Sure he'd had fun tracing Shiki's tattoos with his tongue, but it sort of spoiled the effect when Shiki started whimpering with pleasure, instead of, for example, taking hold of Izaya's head and forcing it to move faster. Not that he wanted to be controlled. (He didn't!) He just didn't want it to be all that easy. It seemed that all of Shiki's husky manliness and authority evaporated in the bedroom. Unless he imagined something hotter and consumed a great quantity of booze, Izaya could barely get it up for the man. Shiki, in short, Izaya thought as he pulled on pants and showed Shiki the door curtly, wasn't his type.

Izaya sighed resignedly as he accepted that he knew exactly what his type was. _Damn it, Shizu-chan!_


End file.
